Vengeance
by Kellen
Summary: When two year old Elysia Hughes is abducted and her father injured, Gracia turns to Colonel Mustang for help. When Roy arrives in Central, he himself pitted against a criminal who will stop at nothing to satiate his thirst for revenge. [WIP]
1. Chapter 1

**Vengeance**

_by__ Kellen_

_Rating: T, or PG-13_

_Summary: When two-year-old Elysia Hughes is kidnapped and her father injured, Gracia turns to Colonel Mustang for help. When Roy arrives in Central, he finds that he is not only racing against time, but a criminal who will stop at nothing to satiate his thirst for revenge and a military that is determined to keep this crime under wraps. _

_Author's Notes: Ok, yeah, it's because I'm a sucker for action stories and there's a dearth of them in this fandom. I wrote my own. My frustration got the better of me. LoL. As you can probably tell by the summary, this will feature Mustang pretty heavily, as well as Gracia. That doesn't mean, though, that I'll ignore the rest of the characters. Hawkeye and Havoc will play major roles, and Ed and Al will be featured. I won't forget Breda, Falman, and Fuery. Mostly based on the anime, but, well… The idea came from the spot in that one episode where we suddenly jump three years. I'm of the opinion that a lot can happen in three years. Ed's only been a State Alchemist for a couple years. No one knows about the homunculi, and everything's still pretty innocent. (Well… yeah… all right… Compared to things that happen later in the series, everything's pretty innocent…) And because people have asked about my stories before, this will not be shonen ai or yaoi. In fact, romance isn't something that will figure very heavily into the story. You will see moments between Maes and Gracia, of course, and may see a few Mustang/Hawkeye moments, but other than that, action and drama is the focus of this story. It will be fairly short. I don't envision it going past 5 chapters. Anyway, I'll shut up now… well, after the disclaimer…_

_Disclaimer: If I owned it, it would be renamed "Flame Alchemist". The characters and settings are the intellectual property of someone who is not me (and when I edit I will put the proper names here). I'm just playing in the sandbox for a few moments. I hope you enjoy the ride. _

* * *

The sun in East City shone brightly, illuminating dancing dust particles as the rays streamed through the open window. A gentle breeze blew, shifting papers on the wooden desk. With a grunt, the man sitting at the desk blindly reached behind him and slammed the window closed. Turning around, he stood up and scowled at the sunlight and impulsively brought the blind down with a violent motion.

So violent, in fact, that the rod snapped off the wall and the whole contraption landed at his feet, bounced and banged against his shins. Still holding the end of the blind in one hand, Colonel Mustang bit his lip against the loud curses threatening to make themselves known and bent down to pick up the blind. Deliberately gentle, he turned and moved to set the cursed thing on his desk. Just before he let go, however, the door to his office came open and two heads, one blond and one grey, peeked around the doorjamb.

And because Mustang knew that soon the sarcastic remarks would flow – especially from Havoc – he instead threw the blind at the door. Falman, being the smarter of the two, immediately disappeared while Havoc waited for the blind to rebound off the door. With a smirk firmly in place, Havoc opened the door, stepped into the office, and picked up the abused blind. "I think you dropped this, chief."

Mustang's eyes narrowed. He raised an arm and pointed to the door. When Havoc didn't immediately comply, Mustang snapped his bare fingers. Havoc gulped audibly. "I'll, uh, just be, um," he pointed to the door, stepping backwards, "out here if you need me." In his haste, he ran into First Lieutenant Hawkeye as she tried to come in the door.

The sight of Riza Hawkeye vainly trying to use a stack of books to avert Havoc's panicked backwards stumbling was enough to soften the glower on Mustang's face. Havoc kept going and Riza winced as his boot heels found her feet. After a few moments of amusement, Mustang sighed. "Havoc, stop. Get back in here." Jean Havoc was a self proclaimed handyman; maybe he could fix the blind. "And stop molesting Lieutenant Hawkeye."

That stopped the both of them short. Mustang chuckled; he loved seeing Hawkeye blush. It happened so rarely that the pink tinge was a precious thing indeed. (Especially when he caused the reaction.) Havoc rolled his head back and grinned sheepishly at Hawkeye.

"Get off my feet," she answered brusquely. "Now, unless you want that cigarette down your throat."

Havoc threw a jaunty salute as he stepped away from her. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about the blind still in his grip and nearly knocked Hawkeye in the head with it.

"Havoc," Mustang called, "do see if you can't fix that before you cause any more damage."

Havoc blinked. "Me? You're the one who tore it off the wall."

"That's an order, Lieutenant."

Havoc's eyes narrowed and he stepped past Mustang, muttering as he regarded the naked window. Mustang smirked when he caught the phrase "abusing the privileges of rank" and turned back to Hawkeye. "Problem?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. I found one of the books you had requested and was bringing it in to you."

Mustang's eyes lit up. Hawkeye blinked; how a book on the weather patterns of the southern region could make anyone look like a child just given exactly what they've always wanted was beyond her. "If I may ask, sir?"

Mustang nodded. Hawkeye barely refrained from sighing. He knew exactly what she was going to ask, and yet he was childish enough to make her actually voice the question. She crossed her arms, glaring at her superior officer. Mustang's mouth quirked in a half-smile. Even Havoc turned from his vain perusal of the window to regard their little game. The blond man smiled, shaking his head. The two did this every time, and according to his own calculations – he'd have to get his calendar out of his desk to see exactly – Mustang and Hawkeye were pretty much evenly matched. Too bad Fuery or Breda weren't there; Havoc could have used the money. Betting against Hawkeye was usually pretty stupid, but seeing the Colonel's mood so far meant he didn't have the patience for these games and he'd be the one to give in first.

Then again, these moods sometimes led to stubbornness unmatched… Havoc sat back and waited.

Mustang spoke first. "Oh, all right, Hawkeye." He shook his head. "It has to with alchemy."

"I had realized that, sir."

"Of course." He waved off the reprimand. "I'm able to change the content of the air, right? More oxygen, less oxygen, whatever I need at the time."

"Bombs on command," Havoc supplied, grinning insanely. "I would kill for bombs on command."

Mustang blinked, turning to the man standing behind him. "You're frightening, Havoc. You know that?"

"Yes, sir," he replied.

Shaking his head, Mustang turned back to Hawkeye. "I just wanted a better understanding of the atmosphere throughout Amestris and beyond."

"But weather patterns, sir?"

Mustang smiled. "I know. It sounds incredibly boring."

The look Hawkeye sent him said everything: _If you can put this much energy into something as boring as weather patterns, surely you can actually get some actual work done once in awhile. _

"You don't approve of my extra curricular research, Lieutenant?"

"I didn't say that, sir."

"Nicely evaded, Hawkeye."

"Evasion, sir?"

His mouth quirked. Havoc was grinning. Word games with Hawkeye always lifted the colonel's mood. What had put him in this particular funk that ended up with the blind being ripped off the wall and thrown around, Havoc didn't know, but a whole day of the colonel randomly destroying his office? It wasn't something Havoc wanted to put up with again. He'd fixed far too many dents, dings and cracks for Mustang to be in these moods very often. Making a silent pact to send Hawkeye something nice for her intervention, he turned back to the window as the phone rang.

Mustang glared at it and finally grabbed the receiver after the third ring. "Mustang." The greeting was curt, inviting the caller to get straight to the point. After moment, though, the stern mien on Mustang's face fell to concern and confusion. He motioned to Havoc, who went to shut the door. By the time he returned to the desk, Hawkeye had set the books down next to the telephone and was watching the colonel intently. So far, Mustang had yet to speak a word. Bracing the phone on his shoulder, he reached for his pen and then grabbed whatever report was on top of his stack. He scribbled on it and handed it to Hawkeye.

_Train, Central.__ Send Breda. _

Hawkeye turned on her heel and was out the door. Havoc watched the door swing closed, blinking at the suddenness of her departure. He started when Mustang finally spoke.

"Gracia, listen…" It was apparent he was cut off; even Havoc heard the stream of shrill words from the receiver. Mustang frowned, opening and closing his mouth, unable to get a word it. His brow furrowed and Havoc actually stepped back. He knew that look well. "Gracia, stop." The command wasn't shouted, nor was it quiet. Mustang, however, knew how to get anyone to listen to him. "You need to take a deep breath."

Havoc was frowning; the moment Mustang's inflection held any sort of gentleness or concern, he knew there was trouble. And Colonel Mustang sounded very concerned indeed.

Hawkeye slipped back into the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Gracia? Are you calmer?" Mustang was clenching the edge of his desk hard enough that his knuckles shone white. Suddenly he smiled grimly. "Right. I know. I'm stupid. Start again, and tell me – a little slower this time – what happened."

It was what Mustang said next that sent Havoc's worry careening into overdrive. "Is Maes all right?"

Hawkeye looked up, worry shining in her red-brown eyes, at this. She caught Havoc's eye and motioned him away from the desk with her. While still keeping an eye on the colonel, she spoke quietly to him. "Catch up with Breda; he's making calls to get train tickets. I told him two, but I want three."

"You're worried."

She nodded. "If Mrs. Hughes is calling here in a state over her husband…" She trailed off, turning her gaze to Mustang. "He's going to Central," she whispered. "He'll need someone to keep an eye on him, and I'll need someone to do the legwork while we're there."

Havoc regarded the colonel. "I'll do it," he said softly.

Hawkeye nodded, nearly smiling. "Get packed; I've a feeling we're leaving as soon as he hangs up that phone."

Mustang suddenly straightened, clenching the phone tight in his hand. "What happened to Elysia?" He listened for a moment and even Havoc and Hawkeye heard the frantic worry in Gracia's tone, if not her actual words. Mustang was shaking his head. "We'll find her, Gracia. We'll find her."

Hawkeye pushed Havoc toward the door. "Tell Breda to step it up with those tickets."

Havoc didn't need any more encouragement; he was out the door in a second.

"I'm on my way." The colonel paused. "Of course I am." He blinked, his countenance softening at something Gracia said, and he almost genuinely smiled. "Take care, Gracia, and try not to worry too much. Tell Maes I'm on my way." With that, the phone was hung up and Mustang stood still for a moment, hand still on the receiver and eyes toward the floor. When he looked up, Hawkeye was biting her lip, worried but trying to look professionally detached. "Maes is hurt," he told her. Hawkeye nodded; she'd picked up that much. "Elysia is missing."

Hawkeye watched as he breezed past her to the door. "Sir?"

He sighed. "The girl was mostly likely kidnapped by the same man who attacked Major Hughes and his wife."

Hawkeye's breath caught in her throat. Mustang was through the door, grabbing his greatcoat. She turned on her heel and quickly marched out behind him. "Breda," she called. Both Havoc and Breda looked up from the desk, where Breda had just hung up the phone.

"Passage for three leaving from Platform Two in 45 minutes, sirs," Breda called.

Mustang stopped. "Three?"

Havoc grinned his trademark "anything goes" grin. "What? You think we'd let you go alone?"

* * *

Gracia Hughes hung up the phone, wiping tears from her eyes. Resolutely, she turned around, and after quietly thanking the nurse on duty, strode down the hallway. Upon reaching the fifth door, she turned to go in, but rested her hand against the wood for a moment as she steeled herself. Slowly and quietly, she pushed her way through the heavy door and approached the single bed where her husband lay, unmoving and still as death. She laid a hand on his chest and kissed his forehead, then lovingly played with the hair that never seemed able to lay straight. "You can rest easy now, love." She kissed his cheek and then whispered in his ear. "I did like you said, Maes. I called Roy when things got rough, and you were right. He's dropping everything and coming here." Her hands clenched into fists in the sheets. "It'll be all right now, right?"

Maes Hughes only answer was an irregular breath. Gracia tried to suppress the sob that rose in her throat. She laid her head next to his shoulder and cried softly well into the night.

And all the while, someone watched from the half-open door, frowning and cursing Gracia Hughes for ever thinking to call East City. After Gracia exhausted herself and fell asleep, the bulky figure turned away. Preparations had to be made. With the Flame Alchemist coming, the situation was bound to become more difficult.

_TBC…_

_I adore concrit, by the way. Please tell me if something strikes you as wrong. Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Vengeance**

_by Kellen_

_Rating: T, or PG-13_

_Summary: When two-year-old Elysia Hughes isabducted and her father injured, Gracia turns to Colonel Mustang for help. When Roy arrives in Central, he finds that he is not only racing against time, but a criminal who will stop at nothing to satiate his thirst for revenge and a military that is determined to keep this crime under wraps._

_Author's Notes: I think this is the quickest update on record for me. Don't expect this very often. This chapter seems off to me. I need your help. Please tell me what worked and what didn't._

_Disclaimer: If I owned it, it would be renamed "Flame Alchemist". The characters and settings are the intellectual property of someone who is not me (and when I edit I will put the proper names here). I'm just playing in the sandbox for a few moments. I hope you enjoy the ride._

* * *

_**Chapter Two**_

Roy Mustang stood in the wind and rain, dark hair in disarray and black greatcoat flapping in the wind. When the conductor had said that there were storms between East City and Central, Roy never would have assumed he meant the kind of storms that could flatten a small city in a fury.

Or wash out railways.

Roy punched the railing he had been leaning on, relishing the sound of the metallic clang over the pattering of the rain. The storm had let up just enough to allow people to move around outside the stopped train.

Not that anyone but Mustang was actually outside. He stared sullenly at the grey landscape, blinking when lightning struck close behind the station they had halted near. Thunder came on the light's heels, loud enough to shake the train.

"Sir!" Riza Hawkeye nimbly leapt from the station platform onto the steps near Mustang's self-appointed guard post. Her boot slipped a bit, but before Roy could reach for her, her hand came down on the railing and she pulled herself upright. Pushing drenched bangs out of her eyes, she shook her head. "The conductor says the train's here indefinitely. There's no way they can get someone out right now to fix the tracks."

Mustang pinned her with a sharp gaze, mind already mulling over solutions. _If I had material, I might be able to fix the tracks… but then, the worst of the storm is yet to come._

Hawkeye grimaced. "Sir, the storm is only gathering strength. They say it's worse between here and Central. Getting the train through it would be difficult, even if we were somehow able to repair the tracks. Putting the passengers into danger is not what we're about."

_How did…? _Mustang shook his head, banishing the thought. It wasn't the first time he'd suspected her of mind-reading. "I'm not waiting around here, Lieutenant."

"I didn't think so, sir." She continued gamely in the face of Mustang's glower. "Havoc is securing a car. We're only a few hours out."

Mustang let go of the railing and clapped Hawkeye gently on the shoulder. "Let's get our luggage, then. I want on the road as soon as possible."

Thunder rumbled again as the two disappeared inside the railcar.

* * *

Gracia Hughes was not a woman easily scared, but three days of constant vigil and worry had her on edge. She honestly thought she could handle a small walk to clear her head. Leaving Maes' side had been hard, but Gracia knew she needed some fresh air. Besides, it was storming, and Gracia loved a good storm. Staring through the rain to catch as many glimpses of lightning as she could had been her favorite pastime as a child. This time, though, as she regarded the storm, she'd started crying instead of smiling. Elysia was scared of the thunder. 

Gracia hugged herself, suddenly chilled. Who would hold Elysia when the thunder terrified her?

She quickened her pace, suddenly wary and frightened of the dim hospital hallway. She needed Maes. She needed him now. Her shoes echoed hollowly on the tile as she moved faster and faster, finally jogging toward Maes' room.

She had to see him. She had to know he was still there. They couldn't have taken him, too.

She broke into a panicked run, rounded a corner. Only a few doors away. There, third door on the left. That's where he was. She slipped, her ankle turning under her. She hit the floor, landing on her hands and knees.

Gracia scrambled to her feet, ignoring the dull pain shooting through her limbs. She whimpered, and started forward again.

A hand closed around her wrist and yanked her backward. Before she thought, Gracia screamed as she lost her balance and fell back. She landed awkwardly, her skirt twisted around her thighs, and her arm folded under her side. Her purse dug into her ribs. Her attacker grabbed the back of her neck – and a handful of light brown hair – and pulled her upper body forward. Gracia opened her eyes.

And her nightmares came true.

He was masked and hooded and only clear blue eyes shone in the shadows cast onto his face. He growled and shook her and she yelped. His grip was strong and Gracia could_ feel_ the hatred he held for her. Her yelp turned into a whimper and fresh tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to yell at this man, to fight back, to apologize to Elysia, to tell Maes how much she loved him.

Yet, her throat closed and her limbs felt leaden.

"It's his fault," the man holding her hissed.

She blinked at him, and then concentrated on moving her right hand. She could barely feel the purse strap still wrapped around her wrist.

"His fault you'll die."

She sniffed, feeling the tears drop from her jaw.

"His fault he'll die."

_Maes, I love you._

"His fault your little girl will die."

_Elysia, baby, I'm so sorry. Mommy's so sorry._

He drew his arm back and let fly a punch that hit her cheek. She fell from his grasp landing on her right hand and crying out. The purse clasp broke and the contents spilled onto the floor. Gracia's hand scrabbled for purchase and instead closed around the handle of the gift Maes had given her only a few months before.

She remembered when he handed her the small black pistol. _Use it if you have to, _he'd said. _I never want to see you hurt. _Gracia didn't think about it. She rolled, using both hands to bring the gun to bear, managed to remember to click the safety off and shot the pistol in a blind flurry of movement. Again and again she shot, only fainting registering the sounds of crashing and cursing. Glass broke, and when Gracia opened her eyes again, the man was gone and curtains were flapping in a gusty wind. Rain splattered in through the broken window.

Lightning flashed, and Gracia heard someone call her name.

Then, her vision went black.

* * *

The train ride had been bad enough. The young man – boy, really, and short enough to still be called as such – struggled under a load of suitcases nearly bigger than he was. He tripped over a step and, annoyed, blew a thick strand of wet blond hair out of his eyes. He sighed, promising himself he'd never offer help to a family in need ever again. Not when it involved carrying luggage through pouring rain. 

"Brother, why don't you let me help?"

Edward looked up, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of polished bright armor through a gap in the suitcases. "No, its fine, Al," he said, forcing cheerfulness through clenched teeth. "I got it."

"Of course you do, Brother."

Ed never understood how a suit of armor could display such emotion. And, right at that moment, the sarcasm wasn't helping. "Where'd the lady go?" Bad train ride, layovers, storms, and now trying to help some woman with her luggage… Oh, yeah, the life of a state alchemist was beyond exciting…

"There you are!"

Ed started, dropping several pieces of luggage. He reached up with his now-free left hand and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, here I am."

The woman – who looked to be pushing forty – bent to pick up a couple of the suitcases, but Al waved her off. His armor clanked and groaned as he bent to pick up the luggage. "I've got it." His voice echoed cheerfully inside the empty armor, and the woman smiled gratefully.

"Oh, no, that's ok. It's fine here. My husband will pick me up in few minutes' time."

Ed, relieved beyond measure, promptly allowed the rest of the luggage to drop.

"I'm so glad I ran into you boys," she gushed. "You've really been a huge help. I can't thank you enough for carrying all that for me."

Ed's hand caught in his drenched braid. _Damn rain. _"No worries," he replied, while carefully pulling his white-gloved hand free. "Be thou for the people, and all, you know."

The woman grinned widely. "You are so cute, child, but certainly there are other, better things you could pretend to be than a State Alchemist." She reached out, pinching Ed's cheek. "You take care, little one."

Al's free hand came to rest on Ed's head, to hold his older brother back. "We have to go," Al said quickly. "Obligations."

The woman frowned. "I thought you said you were headed to East City? I wouldn't think you'd have things to do here in Central, since the train is delayed by the storms?"

Al gathered his brother, pulling at Ed's arms as Ed started to move forward. One large hand clamped over Ed's mouth. "We know people here. Really have to go. Running late." Al started backing away as Ed started to struggle in his grip.

The woman smiled. "You take care of your little brother, Alphonse, you hear me?"

"He's my older brother," Al wailed as he ran off, carrying a furiously struggling Ed. "And it's not his fault he's short. And he really is a State Alchemist."

Ed stopped struggling to gape at his brother. _Not my fault I'm short? _Betrayal. It was betrayal, pure and simple. "Thanks a lot, Al." Ed pulled futilely at the metal arm wrapped around his middle. "You can let me down now."

"You won't run back and attack that woman, will you?"

Again, Ed gaped at him. "What do you take me for?"

And again, Ed was amazed at the expression shown in a suit of armor. He could have sworn Al looked down at him with a mixture of reproach and guilt. Ed harrumphed and crossed his arms, staring out at the pouring rain. Thunder occasionally rolled through the sky. "Oh, yeah, this is good." He threw his hands up. "We're stuck in Central, thanks to the stupid train tracks getting washed out, with nothing to do and nowhere to go."

"Brother, its not the tracks' fault the storm washed them away." Al seemed to think for a moment. "Besides, you've got access to the Central Library, and Major Hughes is here."

Ed's expression softened. "Yeah, Al you're right. I guess we can hang around Central until they get things going again." He grinned suddenly. "Keeps Mustang out of my hair longer."

Al sighed. "You know, eventually you'll have to report to the colonel."

Ed crossed his arms and glowered at the rain. "Don't remind me."

_**TBC...**_

_I hope you're enjoying the ride. See you soon!_

_cheers,Kellen_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Vengeance**_

_Chapter Three_

_Summary & disclaimers are stated in the first chapter._

_Rating: PG-13_

_Author's Notes: Remember back in Chapter One where I said I don't envision this to go beyond 5 chapters? I'm an idiot. Don't listen to me. I changed things and this is turning into a very complicated story, but I am having a lot of fun with it. I'm not sure how long it'll be, but it'll be longer than five chapters…

* * *

_

Visiting hours were over, but that didn't stop Roy Mustang from pulling every bit of authority he had to get both himself and Havoc past the night receptionist at the hospital. It had been awhile since he'd showed his pocket watch to get past any sort of security – especially the kind that was in the form of a short, fiery woman with no military rank that reminded the Colonel just how much Fullmetal annoyed him. Usually, his colonel's stars were enough for anyone looking for identification.

Annoyed, still dripping wet, and with a smirking Havoc following close behind, Roy stuffed his watch back into his pocket, carefully arranging the chain so that it showed. He wanted the fear of the State Alchemists in people's hearts for once. Tonight, he had a mission, and if anyone dared get in his way, he wanted that chain to show, just so they'd know they risked being burned.

When he reached the door, he turned to Havoc. "Wait outside." With that, he pushed the door open quietly, peering around the corner. He almost left again when he caught sight of Gracia sleeping in a chair, blanket slipping down her arm and her head resting on the pillow Maes' occupied. Roy quietly shut the door, leaving it closed but unlatched. Havoc would know, then, that this conversation was private, but interruptible, if need be. He pulled off his wet gloves, then his coat,leaving it in a dripping heap in the corner. He made his way to Maes' bedside, opposite Gracia, and looked down at his friend.

"Damn it, Maes," he whispered softly, mindful of Gracia's rest. "What did you do to yourself?" The window above the bed had the curtains drawn and heavy rain lashed against the windows. Mustang sighed.

The military man – the man born in war – took over, and Mustang placed bare fingers against Maes' neck, moving his other hand to hover over his friend's slightly open mouth before resting against the man's forehead. Pulse, breath and fever. Yes, yes, and … Mustang frowned. He couldn't tell if it was his hands that were cold or if Maes' skin was abnormally warm.

"There's no fever."

Roy started at the soft voice before glancing down. Gracia straightened, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders before speaking again. "He's lucky."

"How lucky?"

Gracia's green eyes shone in the darkness. Roy heard her sigh and she reached to the table beside her and turned on the lamp. Mustang blinked against the sudden brightness, brow furrowing at the sight of Gracia's face.

"What happened?"

Gracia touched the bruise on her cheek lightly, and then caressed the bandage on her temple. She shook her head.

"Gracia…tell me."

She simply smiled grimly, tears welling in her eyes. "You came," she whispered brokenly.

Roy shrugged. "Of course I did."

Gracia ducked her head. "The storms. I was worried. I heard trains were delayed."

"Lieutenant Hawkeye can drive a car as well as she shoots a rifle."

"She's here?"

"Havoc's outside. Hawkeye's procured a bunk at Central Command and is sleeping. She had a rough few hours, driving us here."

Gracia shook her head. "Poor girl. I'm glad, though." She threw a fleeting genuine smile at Roy. "Visiting hours are long past."

Roy smiled back, albeit a little forced. Small talk was well and good, but he wanted know what happened and he wanted to know now. "Damn pocket watch is good for something at least."

Gracia snorted softly. "Guards will let anyone through."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Guards? Surely you're not thinking of the watchdog at the front desk?"

"I thought so," Gracia commented quietly. "I hadn't seen them either."

Roy pulled the empty chair close to him and sat down. "All right, Gracia. Tell me what's going on."

She sighed and sat up straighter, tearing her gaze from her husband. "How secure are we?"

Mustang leaned forward, his wrists resting on the bed beside Maes' arm. "Probably not secure enough." Gracia was a smart woman; Maes had chosen well.

"It's just as well," she replied. "I'm not leaving him alone."

"The story can wait then." Mustang stood up and crossed to the door. When he opened it, he half expected Havoc to be chatting up the night receptionist. As it was, he started when he opened the door and found himself nearly nose to nose with the blond man. Snatching the ever-present and unlit cigarette from Havoc's mouth, he snarled. "Back up a step, would you?"

Havoc complied, his usual laidback manner replaced with a grim seriousness that Roy found disconcerting. "What happened?"

"Don't know yet," Roy replied, glancing back into the room. He tore his gaze away from Gracia's hunched form and faced Havoc. "I need you to do something for me."

"Name it."

"Go to Command. Get Hawkeye out of there, and put us up in a boarding house somewhere. I don't care where; just make sure we won't be conspicuous. Once you do that, find Armstrong and tell him I need to talk with him discreetly."

"Should I bring him here?"

Mustang frowned. The hospital was empty of anyone who could really see this impromptu meeting, except for one person. _It can't be helped. _"That'll have to do."

Havoc chucked a thumb over his shoulder. "What about the she-wolf?"

Mustang narrowed his eyes, regarding the receptionist. _She-wolf, indeed. _"Don't worry. She'll be taken care of by the time you get back."

Havoc turned to go.

"Oh, one more thing." Havoc turned back at Mustang's call. "Don't let Hawkeye come back here with you. She's exhausted, and I need her in top form come morning."

Havoc threw a salute and jogged down the hallway. The night receptionist watched him with sharp eyes and then whipped her gaze back to Mustang. Roy ran a hand through already messy dark hair and sighed before starting toward her.

It was time to turn on the famed Mustang charm.

* * *

Within just a couple hours, Havoc had secured lodging, tucked Hawkeye away – over her loud protests, he later assured Mustang – and escorted Armstrong to the room Maes Hughes and his wife occupied. He and Armstrong entered the room quietly to find Gracia standing next to Mustang, with her delicate hands carefully arranging the blanket across her husband's chest. 

"…stabbed here," she was saying, pointing to the side of Maes' abdomen. "Then, cracked ribs on the right side." She rounded the foot of the bed, coming to stand opposite the colonel. "Finally, a hit to the head."

"And that's what's kept him out for so long."

Gracia nodded. "He has had periods of almost wakefulness, so the doctor tells me recovery is certain. He's not ever been quite aware of what's going on, though." She frowned. "He keeps asking after Elysia."

Havoc cleared his throat. Armstrong stood at attention next to him. Mustang turned, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "Major, Mrs. Hughes and I need some time alone. You will guard Major Hughes. No one comes near him. Havoc, with me."

Armstrong nodded brusquely, for once not expounding on his called duty to protect. He then placed himself at attention at the foot of Hughes' bed. "Don't strain anything, Major," Mustang added quietly, grimly amused.

Armstrong crossed his beefy arms and glowered down at the Colonel (who suddenly felt a little empathy for Fullmetal as he blinked up at the large man). "He will be protected."

"See that he is," Mustang muttered, grabbing his coat and then guiding Gracia outside. Havoc fell into step behind him. It wasn't until they passed the empty reception desk that Havoc thought to ask after the girl manning it.

"Where'd the she-wolf go?"

Unexpectedly, Gracia laughed a little while Mustang groaned and palmed his face.

"What?" Havoc asked.

Roy stopped, straightening his shoulders and then turned. "Don't," he commanded, "ever ask again, Second Lieutenant." And he tapped the pocket that held his watch.

_Got it. Ask and fry. _Havoc swallowed audibly before following his colonel and Mrs. Hughes out into the rain.

* * *

Riza Hawkeye had gone back to bed after Havoc woke her and moved their belongings. She'd put up a bit of a fight; she liked to remain "in the know" and she liked to know Mustang was safe. When Havoc had told her that Mustang had explicitly ordered she rest and not follow, she'd relented and had gone back to bed once they'd found a boarding house. 

She was an intelligent woman; she knew Mustang wouldn't move them without reason. She knew that if they'd moved from Central Command, then there was a very important and dangerous reason they weren't aligning themselves with the military right away. She also knew that corruption had wound its way through the military ranks and Mustang trusted no one.

But for the life of her, she couldn't stay awake to mull over facts. The drive had been difficult. The storm was a furious one. Wind had howled and rain had lashed at the car and made the drive almost impossible. Havoc had slept – slept! With the way the car bounced and swerved, he slept! – in the back seat and Mustang had gripped the dashboard and door handle until his knuckles turned white as he peered out the windshield, trying to help her spot whatever obstacles might be in the way.

She was exhausted, her mind and body both weary. When she lay down to try to follow her colonel's orders, she never expected to actually fall asleep though, her worry was so great.

So Hawkeye was surprised when she woke up with a start.

For a moment, she didn't know where she was. She lay on her side, blankets tucked around her shoulders, and facing the window where rain still fell. She blinked, trying to figure out what had awakened her. She reached for the nightstand next to the bed; experience taught her that when her instincts cried "foul" then she had better listen.

Hawkeye watched out the window as she moved and her eyes widened suddenly. Aborting her attempt to reach for her gun, she instead rolled away from the window and hit the floor in a pile of blankets and pillows as the bullets shattered the glass. Even as the first gunshots faded, more echoed and bullets embedded themselves in the mattress. Lying on the floor, she reached under the bed and snagged the handle of her suitcase. Hurriedly, she pulled it toward her and whipped it open. In one motion, she pulled her extra pistol out, cocked it, and let fly a bullet through the broken window.

A flash of blue moved across the roof next to the boarding house and Riza narrowed her eyes. _That shade of blue… it's a military uniform! _When no more sound or movement reached her sharp senses, she dropped the pistol on the bed and hurriedly dressed, foregoing her uniform.

_Moving out of Central, being attacked by someone who may have been in a military uniform… _Riza frowned as she pulled on black slacks and stepped into her boots. If she was attacked, that meant they followed her and Havoc and that meant the rest of her small party was in danger. She stuffed her gun into its shoulder holster and ran out of the room, grabbing her coat but forgetting to close the door.

It wasn't until she ran outside and started making her way to the hospital that she realized the folly of trying to track down the rest of her party when they were the ones with the car.

* * *

A brawny fist slammed into the desk and the smaller man standing in front of it flinched. "She saw you?" The bigger man yelled, trembling with rage. 

"Perhaps. I… I can't be sure," the smaller man yelped.

"And you were stupid enough to wear your uniform?"

Knowing that lying wouldn't save him, but the truth certainly would condemn him, the sandy haired man nodded, closing his eyes.

"Look at me, you coward." The voice was sharp, angry.

The man opened his eyes, and forced himself to look at the face of his superior. His knees trembled and his mouth dried.

"If you slip up once more, mister," the burly man said in a low voice, "make no mistake that I will feed you to the dogs."

The smaller man trembled; his life was forfeit if he messed up again.

"Go. Get out and get the information I need, Marcus." He paused, sharp eyes pinning the smaller man in a threatening gaze. "I will be watching."

_TBC…_

_Editing and posting at 2 in the morning is probably not the best idea, but I got home and wanted to do this. Like I said, this story became more and more intricate the more I wrote and thought about it. And you know I'm having a lot of fun with this one if I'm updating this quickly. _

_I hope you're still enjoying the ride. _

_Cheers,Kellen_


	4. Chapter 4

_Vengeance_

_by Kellen_

_Summary, disclaimer and the like can be found on the first chapter._

_A/N: Well, would you look at that. There is a plot here. And here I thought it was just going to be random shootings. And fryings. And maybe some BBQ. Sorry, Hughes fans; Maes is still sleeping. Poor guy needs his rest after what I've done to him, though. As always, I am willing and able to take concrit. Don't look for updates until after the first week of December; Kel's going on vacation. _

_Chapter Four_

Riza Hawkeye had left the boarding house with every intention of tracking down her commanding officer and presenting him with the news of her attacker. She had been three blocks away when it dawned on her: she had no idea where they were. Oh, certainly she could make the rounds at the many hospitals and clinics in Central. When they'd arrived, Mustang had made sure she was squared away and asleep before moving on to see Hughes with Havoc. And, if they had pulled her out of Central barracks in the middle of the night, it stood to reason that Hughes wasn't at the base hospital. (She thought had heard murmuring while she was half-asleep; Mustang's voice she knew, talking about Hughes' predilection for making things difficult. He'd tried to wake her, she remembered that, and told her they'd be back well before morning. That they were going off base.)

Now it was almost dawn, and Riza was backtracking and looking for a way to the roof of the building across from the boarding house. The rain was still heavy, and the thunder and lightning still rolled in the heavy clouds. Riza shivered; her long coat was heavy with water and cold. She wished she'd remembered her hairclip; wet blonde strands of hair hung uncomfortably on her neck. She smiled grimly as she rounded the building and looked down the alley; there was a fire escape clinging to the side of the building. Turning, she gauged the distance from the broken third floor window in the boarding house across the street, and then turned back to the rickety fire escape. _Five stories. Joy, _she thought as she walked into the alley.

_First things first. Getting to the escape. _Like most of these contraptions, it was inaccessible from the ground. Riza frowned. Inaccessible, at least, to the less determined. Hands on her hips, she looked around and then nodded when her gaze fell on the pile of broken crates further down the alley. Rifling though them to find a couple that actually looked like they would hold if she stepped on them, she stacked them under the escape and carefully climbed onto them. She reached up, her fingers barely brushing the cold wet metal of the rusted stairs. Stretching, she wrapped her hand around the bottom rung and pulled. The escape groaned, but the ladder didn't swing down as it had been designed to do. Muttering a curse under her breath, Riza pulled again, this time throwing her full weight into it. Again, all the ladder did was creak and groan. The crates under her feet swayed and Riza let go of the ladder in time to jump off of her collapsing make-shift stepladder.

She sighed, restacked her crates a few feet to the left, climbed up again and reached for the balcony on the second story. Again, she could barely reach, and her fingers only brushed against the cold railing. Riza frowned, stretched, and finally hopped, grabbing the railing and pulling herself upward.

And was immensely glad no one was watching her ungainly climb onto the balcony. Never had she felt so graceless as her hands and feet slipped on the wet metal.

It wasn't long before she was on the roof of the building. She'd gone up the fire escape as quickly as she'd been able, mindful of being in plain sight. She crouched where her attacker likely had been, frowning. The sniper had to have known exactly where to look. She wouldn't have been seen from the street, and simply following her and Havoc to this building wouldn't have been enough to guarantee this prime a location.

Riza discounted sheer dumb luck, and even if it had been, someone wearing what looked suspiciously like a military uniform had shot at her, and Mustang had moved their lodgings from Central barracks to a nondescript boarding house.

"They had to have known exactly where I was," she whispered as the pieces started to fall into place. She may have been tired when Havoc checked them in, but she knew she hadn't seen anyone else in the lobby when the proprietor gave them their room numbers.

She shook her head. She needed to find the colonel. The old man who ran the inn could wait, and if he had truly ratted them out, she'd take care of the problem personally. Right now, she needed to talk to someone she could trust.

Biting back a curse – Mustang always knew how to get them into the most difficult situations – Hawkeye bounded down the fire escape, heading for the first pay phone she could find.

* * *

Gracia had insisted that the small pub was a safe place to discuss things. "Maes comes here," she'd said quietly as they ducked through the door. "He meets informants sometimes. The owner and staff are indebted."

Roy didn't ask why; if Gracia said Maes trusted the place, then he'd have to go along with it.

Hughes always did say Roy was too paranoid for his own good.

He, Havoc and Gracia had made their way to a secluded table in the back corner. By silent agreement, Mustang and Havoc sat to either side of Gracia, and Havoc had turned his chair slightly so his back wasn't completely to the door. The proprietor brought a hot pot of tea, and when Gracia expresses surprise that he knew her preference, he'd only smiled and told her that her husband was irrepressible at times.

Now, Gracia sat, shoulders hunched and fingers curled around her mug of tea, and avoiding Mustang's gaze. "It was a few days before the attack that we had an inkling of trouble. We didn't think a thing of it then," she said.

"Hindsight's clear sight," Havoc said sagely.

Mustang shot him a look. Havoc snapped his mouth shut and turned his attention back to the door.

Gracia hesitated for a moment, then decided to ignore the exchange. "There was a ruckus in one of the military prisons; one of the ones to the east of here. It didn't seem major, and it doesn't house the highest profile criminals."

Mustang nodded; he'd heard about it. It had caused a mess of paperwork. Technically, the prison was in his jurisdiction, but it was run by Central personnel. "There were three escapees. One was caught right away. Thanks to the chaos, it took a few days to figure out exactly who was gone." Roy steepled his fingers. "Seemed like a paperwork error, but one of the convicts should have been in a higher security facility. Jerome Kniffen, I believe. Former First Lieutenant, trained in stealth operations and an excellent sniper. His hand to hand skills are exemplary." Roy frowned; a barely recalled conversation tickled the edge of his memory. Maes spoke of Jerome a couple times.

Gracia nodded. "Maes caught him two years ago when Kniffen murdered three people."

Mustang's hands dropped to the table. "He did, didn't he? He was particularly upset the night he spoke with me."

Gracia's mouth quirked in a small smile. "He was. All his hard work and the military didn't say a word about it. Maes was so stiff and sore for weeks after that."

"Kniffen was the military's bastard child at the time. They didn't want the public to find out that their best operative was a murderer on the side." Mustang frowned; Maes would say his paranoia was in full swing, but the implications of the information unsettled him. At the time, Hughes had been somewhat upset because his superiors had stopped just short of reprimanding him for his capture of Kniffen.

Gracia's soft voice cut through his thoughts. "Roy, it was Kniffen who attacked Maes. I know you're thinking conspiracy theories, and I am to, but I know for certain that Jerome Kniffen tried to kill my husband."

"Who took Elysia?"

Gracia looked down, her hands tightening around the now cold mug. "I did some research. Those may be classified files, but I'm not without my own resources. Kniffen was never known to kidnap. He only murdered. And if this truly is part of a personal vendetta, wouldn't he just kill outright?" Her gaze swung upward and Mustang was momentarily stunned by the determination in her face. "I know Maes follows you for a reason, Colonel. I don't know what's going on, and I probably don't want to know exactly." The rest was left unspoken, but it was clear. _Prove to me why Maes believes in you._

Roy Mustang had no intention of letting her down.

* * *

When Hawkeye arrived at the hospital, she was cold, wet, tired, and to say she was annoyed would have been a grievous understatement. Central was a big city, and aside from the military base hospital, there were only two other fairly large establishments. Visiting hours were a far cry from the middle of the night – Riza suspected, though, that it was only a few hours before dawn by now – but locked doors had never been a problem for her before.

She knew her way around hospitals. It wasn't something she was especially proud of; wartime and a dangerous job combined to make one more intimately familiar with medicine than wanted. Riza bypassed the lobby downstairs, and after only a couple wrong turns, found herself in a dim hallway next to a wide desk. Looking around to make sure no one was nearby, Riza leaned over the counter and grabbed the roster sitting next to the phone. She ran her finger down the list of names, stopping and tapping the paper when she found Hughes listed.

It wasn't until she was outside Hughes' room door – only five down from the desk – that she realized those desks were nearly always manned.

She drew her gun, and quietly wrapped her other hand around the knob. She drew a breath and then quickly shoved the door open while bringing her weapon to bear. A meaty hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand upward, until the weapon pointed at the ceiling. With her other hand, she landed a punch solidly on her assailant's ribs.

He didn't flinch; instead, he laughed quietly. "You have a strong hit."

Riza relaxed. "Major Armstrong." She instinctively tried to salute, but the major still had her wrist trapped.

"Good to see you, Lieutenant." He let go of her wrist and Riza holstered the handgun, resisting the urge to rub her wrist. He turned away, turning on the lamp on the side table. Riza took the opportunity to flex her hand and rotate her wrist. By the time Armstrong turned back around, she stood at attention.

"What possessed you to come in here like that, Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

"The night clerk was gone, sir."

Armstrong smiled. "Very good thinking. Wholly unnecessary, but very good thinking. You do that uniform proud." He blinked. "Of course, you're not wearing your uniform."

Hawkeye nearly smiled; Armstrong, despite his tendency to be over-exuberant, really did put her at ease. "Have you seen Colonel Mustang, sir? I need to speak with him."

Armstrong shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. He and his subordinate – Havoc, is it? – left with Mrs. Hughes an hour ago. Is there something I can do for you?"

Hawkeye shook her head. "No, sir. It's the colonel I need to speak with."

Armstrong nodded sagely. "Of course. He should be back soon." He turned, placing himself at the foot of the bed and coming to attention. "In the meantime, join me in this illustrious guard duty."

Had anyone else said it, Hawkeye would have called it sarcasm. She turned to Hughes, offering the sleeping man a heartfelt "get well, sir" and resignedly joined Armstrong.

When the major noticed her coat was still dripping on the floor and that her hair was wet, he stripped her of her coat, ordered her to a chair and wrapped an extra blanket around her shoulders.

Hawkeye was never happier to follow orders.

_TBC…_

_Do leave comments, if you are so inclined_

_I have beautiful reviewers._

_**omasuoniwanbanshi**: I'm so glad you're enjoying the ride. Thanks for the tip; I'll keep an eye on characterization. This one's hard for me. I've never really struggled with keeping characters in-character before, and FMA is giving me fits. (But I'm having fun!)_

_**Windlion**: Thanks ever so! Trust me, I tried to keep these plot bunnies in check. There are plenty of things I should be doing besides writing FMA fic. _

_**Bakabokken**: Haven't seen you in awhile, hon, so I hope your doing well. I just wanted to thank you for the uber-enthusiastic review. blushes I swear, girl, you spoil me! _

_And thanks 'specially to: **random reader…,** **emina64**, **Rachel E.A.,** and **Kizmet**. Thanks for the wonderful reviews. Each one of them gave me warm fuzzies like you wouldn't believe. _

_And to **Nekotsuki**: Thanks for being wiling to beta, even though it turned into something completely different. blushes Yeah, I know. I'm scatterbrained during the best of times. _

_Oh, and misslady, you are a great friend. Thanks for being confident enough in yourself and in me to tell me all the stupid things I do (in regard to writing, anyway…)_


	5. Chapter 5

_Vengeance_

_by Kellen_

_Chapter Five_

_Disclaimers, summary and rating can be found in the first chapter._

_A/N: Meet the bad guys…_

Sergeant Marcus Clouse was a man who followed orders meticulously. He was a thin man, tall and lanky with a mop of sandy hair that shadowed a sharp-featured face. With bony hands, a face that seemed incapable of smiling, and hair that never seemed quite tame or clean, he was often given a wide berth. He looked intimidating, like the greasy scoundrel that would attack in a back alley. When he was given orders, he did all in his power to follow them through. It wasn't because he enjoyed his work, or because he was a hard worker. Marcus Clouse was, in fact, a coward and fear of repercussion kept him in line.

It made him perfect for Brigadier General Basque Grand's staff. Grand had his hand in a number of dubious enterprises, and Clouse had become the "errand boy" for a number of things. The jailbreak had been easy enough to stage, but Clouse never thought he'd be timidly weaseling his way through dim, wet streets to meet the man he'd designed the break for.

Clouse came upon the old boarding house through an alley next to it. He was supposed to meet his contact at the side door, near where the trash was dumped. Clouse shivered, pulling his overlarge coat tighter on his shoulders and cursing the heavy rain. Dawn was approaching, and Kniffen was late. Were it not for the paranoid fear that Kniffen was watching through his rifle scope, Clouse would have been long gone.

"Damn." The expletive was drawn out with a short whistle. Clouse jumped, eyes wide and a yelp caught in his throat. He spun to find the owner of the voice, breathing hard and certain the next – and last – sound he'd hear would be a rifle report.

"Over here, Sergeant." A lean man stepped out of the shadows a little further up the alley and waved. He raised an eyebrow. "Grand's getting the fidgety ones. Used to, he'd have the real soldiers."

Clouse was too preoccupied with returning his racing heart to a normal pace to even consider being affronted by the statement. "You're Kniffen?" His voice cracked, and he hastily cleared it.

The blue-eyed man raised a pale eyebrow. "Grand sent word he wanted to speak with me?"

Clouse nodded, folding his arms and hiding his shaking hands. The message he was delivering was not good news, and Kniffen had a hair trigger – figuratively and literally. "He says he wants to speak in person."

Kniffen snorted. "He has concerns then."

"About your methods, yes. He wants you to ease up."

Kniffen laughed.

Clouse folded his arms tight across his chest and attempted a glare in Kniffen's direction. His gaze settled just to the right of the man; he couldn't look him in the eyes. Clouse swallowed around a dry throat. "Grand wants to know what happened to the child. He thinks you've gone too far; that you're going to attract too much attention."

Kniffen's laugh turned uproarious. Clouse bit the inside of his lip; Grand had given explicit orders to find out about the Hughes' child, and if Clouse dared come back empty handed… He shuddered. "Kniffen! The child! What did you do with her?"

Kniffen's mouth snapped shut, and he turned a deadly glare on Clouse. "You tell Basque Grand," he said, mouth lilting in a cruel smile, "that this dog no longer acknowledges him as master."

Clouse blinked. "I can't-"

Kniffen closed the distance between them in two long strides and grabbed the lapels of Clouse's overcoat. Clouse whimpered. "You can't expect me to jump at his orders, now can you? I spent time in a cell, no thanks to him."

Clouse's hand closed over Kniffen's wrist and he jerked backward, to no avail. "We got you out! We set it up!"

"Don't think I didn't have plans of my own," Kniffen growled. "I've done Grand his last favor." He pushed Clouse backward, turning his back on the slight man. Clouse stumbled, barely staying on his feet.

Kniffen stopped at the edge of the shadows, and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, and Clouse? I don't want any more visits." He disappeared; the shadow of the door seemed to swallow all that was around him.

Clouse started trembling, and he wasn't sure if he would ever stop.

* * *

Al had been up at dawn, and Ed decided, not for the first time, that the best thing about getting his brother's body back would be that Al's clanging wouldn't wake him at ungodly hours. Ed yawned, stretching, and then pulling his red cloak closer. The rain hadn't let up much at all, but at least the lightning and thunder had slowed to a crawl. "How do you know its morning?" he asked Al sleepily. "No one's seen the sun for days."

Al chuckled as he ducked into a small restaurant. "Because the café's open for breakfast," he informed his brother.

Ed grinned. Breakfast sounded like just the thing. He followed Al inside, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. There were only a few people inside, and three of them were gathered around one table. Ed frowned. In that group was the cook. The alchemist strode to the table, unaware or uncaring of the somber atmosphere, and slapped his hands on the table. "Now how are we," he said good-naturedly, grinning from ear to ear, "supposed to order food if the cook and waitress are sitting here eating?"

There was silence for a moment, until Al broke it with a tentative "Uh, Brother…"

Ed finally looked down at the table. No one was eating. He blinked, looking back up at the people. The waitress sat next to a young woman, looking up at Ed with a glare that had Ed wanted to step back. The young woman sniffled. "Now far be it from me," the dark-haired waitress said, "to argue with the customer, but…"

"Elena." The cook laid a hand on the matronly woman's arm. "He didn't mean anything by it. You know that." He turned to Ed, brown eyes sizing up the young man before sighing. "You looking for some breakfast, kid? I'll get it started."

Ed shook his head. "Uh, no. I'll just… That is, we'll be…"

"What Brother means to say," Al broke in gently, "is that we're sorry and we'll find someplace else this morning."

Elena waved her hand. "No, no, no. Walter's right." She sighed. "You didn't mean anything, and we've had a rough night." She wiped at tears that were spilling onto her cheek. "Miss Renna's brother was killed last night. Their parents own this place, and…" Elena stopped. "Sorry to burden you with our troubles." She pulled the girl next to her – Renna, Ed presumed – closer. "Walter's right. We gotta keep moving."

"Where's her parents?"

Al straightened. "Brother! You shouldn't ask…"

Walter smiled. "Straightforward kid." He paused. "They're taking care of things; he was only found early this morning."

"Found?"

Elena looked up. "Damn it, Walter, don't be so obtuse. The boy was murdered, and we know who did it."

"We don't know that, Elena."

Ed looked up at Al and frowned. Al shrugged. It looked as if he were about to speak when Elena spoke again.

"There's been two murders, one attack and a kidnapping. There were gunshots last night and someone says they saw military running around last night."

Ed blinked. "Military?"

Walter glanced at Edward before turning a patient gaze onto Elena. "Did it ever occur to you, love, that the military may have been pursuing the suspect? Besides, you know as well as I that one of those attacks was on military personnel. Renna's brother saw that attack."

"I think," Elena said haughtily, "that man was attacked because he found out something he shouldn't have. Serves him right anyway, I say, being an officer in this military."

"Elena-"

"It makes sense," she persisted. "The man attacked was in the investigations division. You know that. I think he stumbled across something he shouldn't have."

Al shuddered, sending a metallic ringing through the café. Ed spared a glance for his brother before leaning over the table. "A man in the investigations division was attacked?"

Walter blinked. "Yeah. One of the higher ups, I've heard."

"Can you tell me his name?"

Elena stood up, brow furrowing. "I don't think you should get involved in this."

"His name."

"Please."

Walter and Elena both regarded Al as the pleading timbre in his voice faded. "I don't know his name," Walter grumbled.

"Not that we'd want to know," Elena groused. "You boys shouldn't get involved. Look what happened to Renna's family for it, and they weren't asking to be involved."

Walter watched with a troubled expression. "Breakfast, boys?"

Ed turned on his heel. "No, thanks, but the info was good." He started for the door. "C'mon, Al."

Walter's voice rang out as the door closed behind them. "You kids be careful!"

* * *

Everything was gray, but that suited Jerome Kniffen. Less people would be around. Sunlight wouldn't glint off his rifle barrel and give his position away. He peered through the scope, adjusting the heavy raincoat and hat. In this rain, keeping water out of his eyes was difficult, and he hoped that it wouldn't interfere with his aim. He ran a black gloved hand along the barrel, smiling sentimentally as his fingers caressed the nicks and scratches. Many a sandstorm in Ishvar had marked this rifle. He shifted, resting the edge of the barrel on the lip of the roof and looked down, across the courtyard, onto the hospital entrance closest to the room Maes Hughes occupied.

Kniffen was a well informed man, and two years in a jail cell had done nothing to dull his intelligence. He had made it his business to know exactly who Maes Hughes was, and that included family, co-workers and friends. The attack on Hughes had been botched spectacularly. Kniffen hadn't counted on witnesses stumbling into the fray; he finally tracked down the last witness and took care of the problem before meeting Clouse. Nor had he counted on Hughes fighting as hard as he did. He had believed that Hughes' desk job translated to laziness, and had acted accordingly. It was a stupid mistake he wanted to rectify soon.

But then, when he went after the damned man's wife, things went wrong again. The mousy woman was not supposed to have a backbone. He'd wanted to scare her, leave her mercilessly frightened and then toy with her. She was supposed to be jumping at shadows by now, not wearing a veneer of determination. The woman had guts. He had to respect that. It made things more difficult, and he hated that she was doing what she could to fight against him, but he had to respect it. She had to call the colonel. Kniffen nearly growled aloud. He hadn't known Mrs. Hughes would actually leave the premises of the hospital with the Flame Alchemist. The sniper shifted, heavy raincoat barely a help against the water that pooled under him and fell on him.

He supposed he really shouldn't be upset; plans had only changed slightly, and he really had no qualms about killing people.

But, of course, thanks to his own impetuousness, Grand would be hunting him down shortly.

Kniffen, though, had plans. He always had plans, and secondary plans. Grand never liked Colonel Mustang; he'd complained about him more than once or twice in Kniffen's presence. Perhaps, as a favor, Grand would turn his back on Kniffen for awhile longer if Kniffen removed certain irritations. It was a risk, Kniffen knew that, and not guaranteed to work. Either way, Mustang would be out of his own way; whether Grand appreciated the gesture or not would remain to be seen.

Any way he looked at it, killing the Flame Alchemist was a good thing to do.

The black car drove up to the entrance. Kniffen sighted along the scope, finger caressing the trigger. Water dripped off his hat and onto his hands. There were three in the car: Hughes' wife, Mustang and the blond man.

Mustang had to go. He was the wrench in the gears.

Kniffen watched as the doors opened, and his target stepped out of the car. He waited, peering through the rain. No need to rush this.

Mustang rounded the car while the other man helped Mrs. Hughes out. The colonel turned at something his lieutenant said, his hand resting on the door.

Kniffen's finger tightened on the trigger. Perfect shot.

_TBC…_

_:ducks: _


	6. Chapter 6

_Vengeance_

_Chapter Six_

_by Kellen_

_Summary, disclaimer, and other such pertinent information is on the first chapter._

_A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger on the last chapter, y'all. I hope this chapter and this quick update makes up for it. _

She would never admit it, but Riza Hawkeye was bored beyond measure. Major Armstrong had refused to let her from her chair and had, in lieu of a blanket, draped his own overcoat over her. She had merely raised an eyebrow and took it in good humor when the big man proclaimed that she, with her smaller stature, was prone to catching a chill, and he, with his Armstrong heritage, would make sure she stayed healthy. Ordinarily, Riza might have objected and found a way to keep busy, but Armstrong seemed nearly glad for the added responsibility of caring for her as well. Her lips quirked in a small smile; the major was a man who was always moving, and to be placed on guard duty certainly chafed at him.

So, Riza sat in the chair, nearly drowning under the major's coat. Her chin rested on her fist and she stared out the window, peering past the streaks of water that obscured her vision. It had only been a couple hours since she'd first burst into the room, looking like she'd been dredged up from the bottom of a river and assaulted the major. A sigh of relief escaped her when she sighted the car Havoc had procured round the corner and drive up to the door directly below her. She let her gaze travel away from the small roadway and across the dreary courtyard. She glanced up, at the clouds, and cursed the weather again.

Movement caught her eye. At first, she attributed it to the rain and wind that caused the small gray mass perched on the opposite roof to flutter. But Hawkeye was a suspicious woman by nature, and her feet were on the floor and she was intently watching through the window before conscious thought registered.

She saw pale flesh; a face peering downward in the rain.

Riza looked down. Mustang had rounded the car and was approaching the door while Havoc escorted Mrs. Hughes from the car.

Her gaze snapped upward as Mustang touched the door handle. A dark-gloved hand caressed, and then steadied a rifle barrel.

Riza stood, fear coursing through her veins. Her hands clenched and she brought both fists down on the window.

* * *

Havoc wasn't sure what sound alerted him first: glass shattering, a rifle report, or Mustang's cry. Ignoring instinct screaming for him to turn and look, he grabbed Gracia's arm and pulled her from the car. She gasped, and Havoc winced, knowing he wasn't being gentle as he shoved her down and pulled his own sidearm. He narrowed his eyes, looking intently, trying to find a target when he heard his name spoken. He jumped and leveled the weapon only to find his commanding officer in the line of fire. Mustang growled and Havoc shrugged, managing to look sheepish and scared at the same time. Havoc dropped his arm, the weapon pointing at the ground. His other arm still gripped Gracia's upper arm tightly as she kneeled next to him.

Gracia looked up, wide frightened eyes clearing as her gaze settled on Mustang. "Are you all right?"

Mustang blinked; he'd been about to ask her that very question. "Fine."

Gracia frowned. "You're bleeding."

Mustang grunted; he knew perfectly well his arm was bleeding.

"What now, Chief?"

Mustang shook his head, not looking at Havoc, but instead turning his gaze upward, not toward where the shot had come from, Havoc noted, but where the window shattered on the third floor. "We wait."

* * *

Armstrong pulled Hawkeye away from the window and before she could spare him a glance, had a gauntlet on one hand and his sidearm in the other. Riza crouched, cradling her bleeding hands for a moment before steeling herself and pulling her own weapon. She stood up, back to the wall and peered out the window.

"Lieutenant?" Armstrong's voice was deep and strong. He was standing as she was: beside the window, with his back to the wall.

"Yes, sir?" Hawkeye looked askance at him.

"That was stupid. Loyal, but stupid. Remind me to publicly berate you and privately sing your praises."

Hawkeye spared a glance for her cut hands. "Yes, sir."

Armstrong regarded her for a moment, and Hawkeye tried not to shrink back under his gaze. "The shot is yours, Hawkeye."

She didn't smile, but when she acknowledged him, her tone was full of a feral humor that had even Armstrong glad she was on his side. Hawkeye spun, bringing her weapon to bear, training on the gray mass she'd spotted earlier. Armstrong stepped in behind her, weapon level and ready. She fired three shots in rapid succession, each one burrowing deep into the gray overcoat on the opposite roof.

The coat fluttered, and a gust of wind caught it, sending it over the edge of the building. No trace of the sniper remained.

Hawkeye cursed.

"Keep an eye out," Armstrong advised. "Provide cover, should it be needed."

* * *

As soon as three shots echoed from above them, Mustang was moving. "Gracia, door. Havoc, cover." There was a moment where no one spoke or moved. "Now," Mustang hissed.

Gracia leapt for the door, and Havoc followed. Mustang stood, weapon ready, and came shoulder to shoulder with Havoc. Gracia fumbled for the door knob, sobbing in frustration when her shaking fingers slipped.

Another shot echoed in the courtyard. Havoc cried out, his gun dropping. He followed shortly after, Mustang dropping with him in a vain attempt to catch the man.

Gracia yanked the door open, stumbling backward and falling as a bullet embedded itself in the door just above her head.

"Havoc! Havoc!" Mustang shook the man's shoulder, but was rewarded only with a groan. Gracia lunged forward, away from the door. "Gracia! What the hell!" Mustang reached for her arm, but missed.

The small woman – a woman Mustang knew was smart and resourceful but never once had he imagined vindictive – grabbed the gun Havoc had dropped and had it aimed slightly up and to the right. She pulled the trigger and the rebound nearly threw the gun from her hands. Mustang hooked his hands under Havoc's shoulders and pulled him inside. Gracia followed, hands covering her ears as more shots rang outside.

* * *

Hawkeye watched, her anger rising sharply, as Havoc fell. It wasn't until she saw Gracia pick up Havoc's firearm and aim that Hawkeye found her target. "Major!"

"I see it," Armstrong replied.

There was movement on the bed behind him, and pale green eyes opened to the chorus of gunfire.

* * *

Gracia had closed the door as soon as they were all inside. Mustang knelt over Havoc, the heels of his hands pushing against a red-blossoming wound in the man's shoulder. Gracia set the gun down carefully and then lowered her face into her hands, her fingers squeezing her scalp. "Not now, Gracia," he said sharply. "I still need your help."

She shook her head.

"Gracia!"

She looked up at the shout, eyes wide.

"I still need your help," he said quietly.

She stared blankly for a moment, and thenblinked at him. "You yelled at me."

Mustang smirked, though there was no amusement behind the expression. "It's nothing compared to what Maes will do to me when he finds out what I just did."

Gracia smiled, but it wavered. "What do you need me to do?"

"First, make sure there're medics headed this way. Then, go upstairs and sit with Maes."

She nodded, smiled again, and ran off, corralling a doctor while still in Mustang's line of sight.

* * *

Mustang closed the door quietly behind him; Havoc was enduring all manner of medical torture in that room and he doubted the lieutenant would appreciate his commanding officer watching. The colonel went to rub his temples, but winced as the movement pulled at the wound in his arm. The bullet had pierced his upper arm, just under the shoulder. He shook his head; it was only thanks to the bad weather and the glass shattering above him that he was still alive. He never thought he'd be thanking the rain for having a part in saving him. He knew from experience, though, how difficult it was to aim in a storm.

He looked up at the sound of booted footsteps and tried his best to smooth his worried expression as he saw Hawkeye approaching. Her face mirrored his, he noted with dry amusement. Worried, but trying not to look it. He held up a hand, forestalling her question. "He's going to be fine."

She seemed to wilt. It was then that he realized she was running on anger and fear. "Hawkeye?"

She blinked, seeming to gather her wits about her. "Are you all right, sir?"

Mustang nodded. "Right as rain," he said dryly.

"With all due respect, sir," she returned, "then you are in need of attention."

"It can wait." He cocked his head, frowning, then reached out and caught her wrist. He raised an eyebrow as the gashes on her hand. "Other hand." She held it up without question. "You broke the window. You aren't even supposed to be here."

Hawkeye didn't say anything. She just watched him with a mild gaze.

"Lieutenant, why didn't you use something besides your hands to break the window?"

Her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes. "Major Hughes woke during the commotion, sir. He asked after you."

Mustang snagged a roll of bandages and a pitcher of water from a nearby cart. "Let's not keep the Major waiting then, shall we, Hawkeye." He walked past her. "And I expect you to protect me from him; I doubt he's going to be happy with me."

Riza sighed, and turned to follow him, hands held close to her chest.

"And I'm not letting you out of my sight until your hands are taken care of, got that, Lieutenant?"

She tried not to smile.

_TBC…_

_See? I'm not all bad. This isn't a cliffhanger. _

_Next chapter: Major Hughes interrogates Mustang. Mustang interrogates Hawkeye. And Kniffen – poor sod has the worst luck – falls back on Plan C. _


End file.
